He tore his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged into it. ‘Do as you like. Only don’t expect me to be hanging around.’
Without a backward glance, stiff-backed, he marched from the room. She heard his feet stomp along the passageway and then the front door clashed behind him.
As he walked up the street in the black night, Trevor didn’t know what to think. He was shaky mad. The two of them had said terrible things in the heat of the moment – words they weren’t likely to forget. Man, how Etty got under his skin but Trevor, seething at the words she’d flung at him, had his pride and would be damned if he’d back down.
He put his hand in his jacket pocket, feeling the little square velvet box that held the second-hand solitaire diamond ring he’d intended to give her. He’d bought the ring that very day and spent all his savings on it. He’d even rehearsed the words he would say.
Trevor sighed, disconsolately. Maybe some things just weren’t meant to be.
One night in the first week of October, Etty braved the blackout to meet with Bertha Cuthbertson at the picture house in King Street. She waited in the pool of light in the foyer; the outer doors firmly shut, so that no chink of light could be seen from the outside. Tapping her foot impatiently, Etty glanced at her watch. If Bertha didn’t show soon they’d miss the beginning of the B film.
Opposite Etty was a kiosk, where a blonde cashier was sitting behind a pane of glass.
‘Fellas, eh!’ The girl studied her fingernails and after blowing on them, polished them on her tunic top. ‘Stood you up, has he?’
‘I’m not waiting for a fella,’ Etty protested.
Since the night that Trevor had bungled his proposal, Etty convinced herself she preferred her new-found freedom and that parting was for the best.
What if Trevor finds someone else? A little voice in her head tormented her. A stab of jealousy poked Etty that took her breath away. For all his faults she did miss Trevor, she’d grown fond of him and wanted him for herself. The night they’d argued put paid to that though. After what he said, no way would she make the first move to put things right. She stuck out a stubborn chin, telling herself she didn’t need Trevor.
‘I’ve known lasses,’ the girl in the kiosk broke into her thoughts, ‘wait for hours on exactly that same spot. It doesn’t occur to them they’ve been stood up.’
‘I haven’t been stood up.’
The girl didn’t look convinced.
Etty checked her watch. Bertha was half an hour late and Etty dithered over what she should do. That moment the outer door swung open and her friend came in and heaved up the marble steps.
‘Sorry, lass,’ her cheery face contorted with annoyance. ‘That man o’ mine hasn’t shown up after work. He promised faithfully he’d be home to mind the bairns. I’ve asked the neighbour upstairs to look out for them.’ She grimaced, ‘If that bugger’s gone to the pub he’s in for a roasting. I swear,’ Bertha was a little breathless with rushing, ‘if it was up to that sod of a husband o’mine I’d never set foot outside the house.’
She rummaged in her purse and paid the cashier for a ticket. ‘Haway,’ she said, putting her change away. ‘I divvent want to miss the film.’
Giving the cashier an ‘I told you so’ smirk, Etty led the way through swing doors into the picture hall, where an usherette showed them to their seats by the beam of the torch she carried. A newsreel on the big screen displayed images of bomb-damaged London and the male commentator’s urgent monotone filled the hall. Pictures showed Home Guards removing mountains of rubble, risking their lives amongst teetering buildings.
In the kerfuffle, as the two women found their seats, took off their coats and placed handbags and gasmasks at their feet, the people behind them clicked their tongues in irritation.
‘Aye, well,’ Bertha raised her voice, ‘if folk had more tolerance there mightn’t be any war.’
Hardly had the pair settled in their seats when the newsreel finished and the house lights went up.
‘We’ve missed the showing of the B film.’ Etty folded her coat and placed it on her knee.
‘Suits me. I’m happy to see the feature film, then haddaway home.’
‘What’s the picture called again?’
‘Goodbye Mr Chips.’
‘Who’s in it, do we know them?’
‘Robert Donat and a new lassie called…’ Bertha’s brow creased in concentration. ‘Greer Garson… apparently it’s her film debut.’
‘How d’you know all this?’
‘May Robinson. I mentioned this afternoon in the canteen we were coming and she told us she’d seen the film at the beginning of the week with that fella o’ hers. She reckons we’re in for a rare treat.’
So, Billy had been home on leave. Etty couldn’t help the stab of disappointment but hot on its heels came relief. He’d heeded her words and left her alone. Etty should be thankful.
‘I think I’ll go to the lav before the main film starts,’ Bertha whispered. She heaved herself out of the seat and glowered at the ruddy-faced man behind. As Etty stood up to let her friend pass, she did what everyone did during the interval – scanned the sea of heads to see if she knew anyone.
She froze.
He sat a dozen or so rows behind, on the other side of the aisle. Smoking a cigarette, his eyes narrow slits, he looked directly at her.
Billy Buckley.
14
Billy waved, before walking over and sitting down in the vacant seat next to Etty. It was ridiculous how guilty she felt, as though she’d engineered the whole thing.
‘You never replied to me letter.’
‘Go away,’ she whispered.
Bertha returned and, squeezing past Etty, raised her eyebrows.
At a loss as to what to say, Etty shrugged.
‘How did you know I’d be here? Did you quiz May?’ she asked him.
‘Yes.’
Etty couldn’t believe his cheek or May’s stupidity. ‘Did May simply volunteer the information?’
‘In a general conversation sort of way, yes.’
‘And she wasn’t suspicious?’
‘May isn’t the suspecting kind.’
‘Where does she think you are?’
He took a drag of his cigarette and the smoke curled upwards towards the lights.
‘At the barracks. Me leave’s up tomorrow. I’m travelling back later tonight.’
Bertha, the other side of Etty, poked her in the ribs. ‘That’s May’s fella isn’t it? What’s he doing here?’
‘Believe me, I’m trying to find out.’
The house lights went down and the heavy curtains swished open. Music sounded in the vast hall. The film’s title came up on the screen and Billy leant over and murmured in her ear.
‘You smell lovely, clean and fresh. I’m pleased you don’t wear perfume.’
The tension in Etty heightened. She couldn’t believe he would show up like this in public.
The film started. Etty watched as boys arrived at a school, excited for the beginning of a new term. The scene was far removed from anything she’d experienced at Blakely. Mr Chipping, the main character, came bumbling into view in mortarboard and school garb, walking with the aid of a stick. A retired schoolmaster, Mr Chipping lived in the school grounds and Etty, warming to his character straight away, settled down to enjoy the film.
Billy nudged her elbow on the armrest and whispered, ‘I came to tell you rumour has it me battalion’s being sent abroad.’
Etty’s heart rate increased. ‘So? Why tell me?’
‘I thought you should know. Will you miss me?’
‘No.’
‘Admit it. I’m irresistible.’
‘Hop off. I want to watch the film.’
‘Will you shurrup…’ a male voice behind fumed. ‘Some of us came to see the picture.’
Chastened, Etty slid down her seat. On the big screen the story flashed back to when Mr Chipping was a young man and met Katherine Ellis, the love of his
life. The couple married and the strict master changed. He, and his wife, devoted to one another, led a charmed life and his pupils over the years all came to adore him.
Etty sighed. It was such a romantic story and it only confirmed her belief that there was someone special in the world for everyone.
Her thoughts turned to Trevor. As he’d told her, he wasn’t romantic like in the flicks but he had other redeeming features. He was devilishly handsome and she could always depend on him for the truth. Plus, underneath his sometimes awkward exterior lay a giving heart, especially for Etty. But she’d finished with Trevor and there was no going back.
Aware of Billy at her side, she couldn’t help compare the two. Billy, fun-loving, made life exciting and Etty flushed, wondering what it would be like to make love with him. She shivered deliciously in the darkness. But excitement was not what life was all about. Her mind switched to dear Laurie Calvert, his stability and integrity and how much he cherished her sister. She remembered the promise she’d made that she wouldn’t settle for anything less than that kind of love.
‘I came for a goodbye kiss,’ Billy whispered.
Etty jerked away. ‘Don’t do this, Billy.’ The word ‘goodbye’ registered. ‘Have you got a posting?’
‘No, but wherever it is I’ll be thinking of you.’
He leant towards her as if to kiss her.
‘You two,’ the same voice of complaint behind spoke, ‘will you sit still? I can’t see anything with you writhing about.’
Mortified, Etty turned her attention to the film. Mr Chipping’s wife was telling him that as long as he believed in himself he could go as far as he dreamed. Etty, entranced, guessed that something tragic was going to happen. When, heartbreakingly, it did, tears streamed down Etty’s cheeks. To her surprise, the houselights went up and the projector, maddeningly, ceased to roll. Etty, wiping her eyes with her fingertips, looked around.
Mutterings of disgruntlement filled the hall.
The manager, a middle-aged man wearing a black suit and red dickey bow tie, walked onto the stage. Turning towards the footlights, he shielded his eyes with a hand.
‘Ladies and Gentleman,’ he said, his voice grave, ‘I’ve an announcement to make. I’ve been informed of an enemy raid. Please leave your seats in an orderly fashion and make for the nearest air raid shelter.’
Before he’d finished speaking, seats tilted up and people made a dash for the exits.
‘Haway, bonny lass, stick with me.’ Taking Etty by the hand, Billy dragged her out of the seat. She bent to retrieve her coat, which had slid to the floor.
‘No time.’ Billy pulled her along the row of seats into the middle aisle.
Bertha dived under the upturned seat for her handbag. ‘Wait for me!’
Etty tried to wrench free, calling out to Billy to make him stop but her voice was drowned in the hullabaloo. Folk swarmed up the aisle and she was carried along with them.
‘What’s Jerry got against this film?’ someone at her side remarked. A bent old man with wispy grey hair shook his head. ‘This is the second time I’ve brought the wife to see this picture and both times there’s been a raid on.’
Then he was gone, his slight frame swept along in a tide of humanity, afraid for their lives. If it weren’t for Billy clinging on to her hand, Etty would have lost him too.
As they made their way to the cinema’s back door, Billy turned towards her. His expression grim, he yelled above the mayhem, ‘We won’t make it to the marketplace this way. Union Alley’s blocked off from the last raid.’
He dragged her along a row of empty seats to the opposite side of the cinema, where the crowd surged to the front of the building. Then she saw Bertha, distress etched on her face as she was herded along the centre aisle towards the back door. Etty waved to attract her attention but Bertha simply didn’t see her amongst the chaos.
In the foyer, Etty heard the warning wail of the siren from outside. She clung on to Billy’s hand and was plummeted down the steps and through the open doors. A pedestrian running past on the pavement bumped into her and she lost her grip.
‘Billy!’ she cried.
Her eyes, unaccustomed to the dark, stared into a black abyss. People pushed and shoved, and an electric spark flared from overhead wires as a trolley bus passed by in the road.
‘Where are you, Billy?’
But Billy didn’t return her call.
A full moon riding high in the sky, veiled intermittently by cloud, cast a pale light that Etty could see by. Then the sound she most feared filled the night sky – the distant drone of aeroplanes as they flew in her direction.
Etty had never known real fear before, not even at the hands of Mistress Knowles, she decided – which was nothing compared to today’s threat. She ran with the rest, looking over her shoulder once in a while, into the night sky. A mutter of guns came from the vicinity of the docks, followed by thuds and spirals of smoke, casting a sinister glow over the river. She stopped at the corner of King Street and stood transfixed, watching Jerry aeroplanes as they flew over in waves, tiny black dots at first, then big enough to induce bowel-slackening fear. It became sickeningly evident she was caught up in a large-scale attack.
‘Bugger it. We’re in for a reet time of it tonight,’ a male voice yelled, making her jump. An Air Raid Protection warden, his face upturned towards the sky, stood at her side. ‘Just look at them enemy planes,’ he regarded her. Middle-aged with a good-natured face, his eyes were wide in alarm.
‘Away with you, Miss, get yerself into the shelter… and lass, God bless.’
As though the warden broke a spell, Etty was galvanised into action. Her stomach lurched and she felt sick but she would never let fear show.
‘You too,’ she yelled over her shoulder as she fled.
She raced over the road into the marketplace, surrounded by familiar buildings – shops, a hotel, St Hilda’s church, the old Town Hall. As she ran, Jerry planes came over in waves, low overhead. Ear-splitting shrieks filled the night air and terrific explosions shook the earth beneath her feet. Figures ran full pelt in the direction that Etty was heading. Ahead, a man carrying a sack disappeared down the shelter steps, while another man, silhouetted in the moonlight, paused at the entrance. There were more whistling sounds and terrible crashes, and from over the road a cracking noise as a building collapsed. Etty fell down, got up again, and ran on. She toppled over a heap at the shelter entrance. A man lay dead on the ground. His war tragically finished, Etty could do nothing for him.
‘The bastards,’ a male voice yelled.
Strong arms swooped her up, and Etty was carried down the dark stairwell. The bombs mercifully ceased but in the distance came the sound of incessant crumps.
‘Yi’ all right, miss?’ Her rescuer, a burly man with a blood-stained face, gave a stiff smile. ‘Yi’ had a close shave.’
‘I’m grand, thanks,’ she said, with as much bravado as she could muster.
The man put her down and, thanking him, Etty followed him around the blast wall. Her sausage roll hairstyle had become undone and wisps of hair fell about her face.
Covered in grime, she had a blood-soaked knee where she’d fallen down.
She stood in a crowded, dimly lit passageway, craning her neck to see if she could find Billy or Bertha but she couldn’t spot either of them. People sat on seats that tilted from walls or on blankets in groups on the ground. The air, thick and foul, had a nauseating stench to it. The noise was incredible and further along the passageway an accordionist accompanied those folks who sang, half-heartedly, Gracie Fields’s hit song, ‘Wish me luck’.
It was cold and draughty in the shelter and Etty wished she’d had time to retrieve her outdoor coat before fleeing the cinema. Images of Bertha’s terrified face as she was swept along by the throng at the cinema played in her mind’s eye. Etty prayed her friend made it safely to the air raid shelter.
She picked her way around the bodies into the adjoining passageway, hoping it would
provide space for her to sit down. Here, a similar scene met her eyes. People sat on the ground in groups while a baby in a siren suit slept in ignorant bliss in its mother’s arms. Everyone appeared to know each other, which, because of the recent air raids, was hardly surprising. To keep her spirits up, Etty would have liked to sit and gossip but feeling very much an outsider, she moved along.
A sharp-featured old woman wearing metal-framed glasses sat on a blanket made out of colourful squares.
She looked up as Etty passed. ‘Eee, hinny.’ Her eyes were scandalised. ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to, just look…’ she nodded to a few yards ahead, where two bodies writhed beneath a blanket on the ground. As she realised what the couple were up to, Etty’s cheeks flushed and she averted her eyes.
Thuds came again from outside, faraway at first – then closer. As aeroplanes screamed overhead, Etty’s mouth went dry and she clutched her chest. The ear-splitting explosion, when it hit outside, filled the passageway with dust and smoke.
‘I want me man,’ the old woman, dazed and dusty on the floor, cried.
Etty dropped to her knees. With a calm she didn’t feel, she tried to pacify her. ‘Don’t be afraid. It’ll be over soon.’ Her words seemed to do the trick and the woman gave a weak smile.
At that moment, with all the dust in the air, Etty sneezed, a huge sneeze that threatened to burst her eardrums, and when she opened her eyes, a soldier towered over her.
Her eyes travelled up to his face.
‘Billy.’
Relief shone from his eyes. ‘Thank God you’re safe, I’ve searched everywhere for you.’
His eyes over-bright, he bent, taking Etty by the elbow and helping her up. As she sagged against the coarse material of his uniform, the warmth exuding from him comforted her and it felt good to have someone who cared.
Here, in this overcrowded place, you could smell the fear, and though people put on a brave face, there was dread in their eyes – the terror that the end was nigh. Etty felt it too, but there was nothing she could do, no place to hide, no prayer to protect herself.
The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel Page 14
